


as the lily among thorns

by annejumps



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Historical Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, F/M, Warlord Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:51:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8456065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Erik has defeated the Greys and seized their lands—and their daughter.





	

“My lord,” calls one of Erik’s soldiers from outside his tent, “we bring the Lady Grey to you, as you commanded.”

“Enter,” he calls in return, blinking himself to full wakefulness, sitting up in his makeshift bed. The chill of the night is starting to seep in through the walls of his tent. He’d nearly dozed off, waiting for the girl.

The flap is lifted, and she is led into his tent by his servants; blindfolded, she is directed to sit on the floor in front of him, on her heels, hands behind her back. Dressed in only a simple linen shift, she is barefoot; as with the blindfold, it is tradition. The servants depart, and he looks at her. It’s dark in the tent, the air hazy with incense; he can see she is fair, and trembling slightly, though trying to hide it, her lips parted. It is no surprise if she’s frightened; Erik has seized her lands and killed her family, after all.

She has long red hair, like many of the people of this land; it streams down over her shoulders, gleaming like the flame in the lamp hanging over them. 

Erik’s senses can no longer ignore the iron collar around her neck. He knows what it means and why she wears it.

“Lady Grey,” he muses aloud.

“My lord,” the girl says, barely a whisper.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No, my lord. I am merely tired,” she answers, and swallows. She sits up a little straighter. He smiles at her display of backbone, until he remembers the collar.

“How long have they made you wear this?” he asks, lifting it slightly with his ability. She gasps, shifting, and then recovers.

“Since my magic came, my lord.”

Erik sighs, setting the collar down again. “The Greys planted the seeds of their own destruction in disabling the advantages of their own people. It is fitting that our children will bear my name and not yours.” 

Lady Grey says nothing, but goes still. 

“Do you want your blindfold off?” he asks. “It’s a foolish tradition, if you ask me.”

“Yes, my lord.” Not “If it pleases you, my lord.” That is a positive sign, at least. Erik wants total capitulation from his enemies but not spinelessness from his wives, even those born of enemies.

Erik stands, and unties the blindfold. The girl blinks at him with uncommonly wise eyes, saying nothing. But she is still young and innocent; that he can see.

“How many years have you?” he asks.

“Seventeen, my lord.”

“What is it you are able to do, my lady?” That is a true curiosity to him; the Greys had been extremely secretive about what their only surviving child’s “magic” was.

“I can read minds and move objects,” the girl answers after a moment, somewhat hesitant; she can’t, of course, be used to talking about what she can do.

“Ah.” Erik nods, concealing his surprise. He reaches out to lightly touch her chin, tilting her face up to him, eyeing her slender neck. The collar is practically making him itch. She may be the most powerful of their kind he’s yet heard of, and the thought of all that being forcefully contained against this girl’s will almost makes him wish the Greys were still alive so that he could give them another piece of his mind.

“Do you want this collar off?” he asks.

She parts her lips, starting to nod, and then stops. “I—”

“I don’t want you to wear it,” he clarifies. “Had your family not told you of my feelings regarding people like you and I, people who have these abilities? It’s not ‘magic.’ It’s part of who we are.”

“I know of your reputation, my lord—It’s only that—My lord, I have not practiced the use of my abilities. I may be—unable to control them.” She swallows, and the collar bobs.

“Your people forbid this ‘magic’ to be used, did they not?”

“They did, my lord.” She looks away, subdued. Erik has never had the sense that the Grey hold was a happy one. Perhaps Jean does not so much mind being the last of her line.

Erik holds out his hand before her neck, pulling his fingers toward himself with a turn of his wrist to unwind the iron clasp, without touching it. The bewitched iron slides smoothly from around her neck, and he rests it on the floor. 

“I can make it into whatever you’d like,” he tells her. “A bridle bit for your horse, perhaps.”

“I haven’t got a horse, my lord,” Lady Grey says. She moves her hands to her lap.

“A lady of my house will certainly have a horse,” he chides gently. “A fine one.” She nods, and for the first time looks almost pleased. “Your ‘magic’—can you feel it now?”

Lady Grey closes her eyes, and bows her head. For a moment, he thinks he feels a presence brush against the walls of his mind. “I believe so, my lord. It’s been,” she swallows, and winces, as if tears prick her eyes, “a very long time since I was able to be free with it.”

“You will use your abilities again and you will learn control. Stand,” he tells her, and she gets to her feet, swaying briefly. He does not steady her, but observes her again: she is long of limb, nearly as tall as he is. Well shaped, and more than fit to bear his children—children who will almost certainly be very powerful indeed. He can picture her draped in jewels befitting her newfound station, but such adornments would be superfluous given her beauty.

“What is your given name, my lady?” He knows it, of course, but he wants her to tell him.

“Jean, my lord. Jean Grey.” She curtsies—it’s not practiced, but there’s a natural grace in it.

He bows. “My lady Jean Grey. It is an honor,” he says, taking her hand, pressing his lips to its back. 

_My lord_ , she says in his mind, clearly with some effort. He startles, and smiles at her, standing. 

“Erik,” he tells her.

She squeezes his hand briefly. _Erik_. Her voice in his mind is more modulated this time.

With her hand still in his grasp, he walks her to the bed where he’d been lying before her arrival. Settling back down in his furs again, he draws her to him, then against him. He waits for her to relax, but she does not, remaining still and alert; he can feel trepidation emanating from her thoughts. 

“Rest now,” he tells her. “A proper introduction to my bed can wait until you’re not bone-tired.” 

There’s a flutter of alarm from her at his acknowledgement of her true purpose in his tent and his bed, but she settles against him. A few minutes pass, and he nearly has drifted off when she speaks, hesitant. “The voices,” she whispers. “It is difficult to sleep. I can hear everyone’s thoughts.”

“Then I shall order everyone to stop thinking,” he teases, and adds, “Your family did you a disservice by not allowing you to learn to control this yourself, but control it you must. Sleep,” he urges firmly. He must be careful with someone so powerful as Jean—she should not be fettered, but he cannot afford her abilities being brought against him in anger or vengeance. 

“I cannot hear your thoughts as clearly as I can the others,” she murmurs some time later, half asleep.

It is a natural gift he has where those who can read minds are concerned, but he does not tell her that. “Let there be some mysteries between husbands and wives,” he says to her instead.

To his surprise, she sleeps soundly until dawn, probably from sheer exhaustion. Erik has vague memories of what might have been her dreams. 

She wakes to him peeling her linen shift away, and her eyes go wide. It’s cold, and goosebumps rise on her skin where he bares it; he follows them with touches of his hands and mouth, until her shivering is no longer entirely from the chill.

She can’t seem to help sharing with him what it feels like; it makes him desire her all the more. Knowing without a doubt that he’s pleased her despite her initial distress and discomfort makes him not mind in the slightest when he realizes various things of his in the tent now lay scattered and strewn about.

He also realizes she may have unwittingly informed the entire camp of what a good morning the two of them have had, and finds he doesn’t mind that at all either.

**Author's Note:**

> It was surprisingly easy to write an Erik/Jean fic that doesn't mention Charles (although there is a bit in it that could be considered an allusion to him).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [as the lily among thorns (the brides' maid remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421861) by [afrocurl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl/pseuds/afrocurl)




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